


Almost

by TJLC_Johnlockian



Series: To Live And To Die For Love [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, F/M, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Nice Mary, Post-Reichenbach, Requited Love, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 05:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12834069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TJLC_Johnlockian/pseuds/TJLC_Johnlockian
Summary: John visits Sherlock’s grave after the fall every Tuesday for two years. This time he visits with news.They don‘t go unheard.





	Almost

**Author's Note:**

> English ist not my native language, so I‘m sorry if my grammar has flaws.  
> Also this is my first work, so please feel free to leave comments, kudos and advice. :)

It was raining when John finally arrived at this place he visited every tuesday. Every tuesday since that day.  
He tried his best not to think about it. He tried when he first awoke the morning after and the flat was silent. He tried when he made tea just for himself for the first time in 3 years. He tried when he went shopping and didn‘t get a SMS about milk. He tried his best over and over again, but failed miserably. It seemed like that day was everything he could think about. It nagged on him in every nerve of his body. It made his throat burn, his eyes sting and his heart ache. How had he not seen it coming.  
Sherlock was his best friend and yet he hadn‘t known he wanted to end his life. 

John often lay awake at night creating scenarios in which he dreamed of a different outcome.  
He would have told Sherlock he was not alone, that he was the best and wisest man that he had ever known. He would have ignored Sherlock‘s request to stay where he was and not move. He would have moved. He would have run. As fast as he could. Up the stairs of St. Barts and onto the roof. He would have walked up to his consulting detective and held him tight and wouldn‘t have let go. He would have never let go. 

But he didn’t do any of that. He had just stood dumbstruck on the ground, looked up to the roof and watched him jump. It was his fault his best friend was dead. The man who made his life worth living was dead. And he couldn’t do anything about it.

Tears build in John’s eyes and made his vision blurry. He was shaking as he made his way through the little gate, along the path of pebblestones and onto the grass. He stopped in front of a big black marble stone with white letters carved into it. A name and date. That was all it read.  
To believe this would one day serve as a sorry excuse for a substitute of one great Sherlock Holmes, had almost made John laugh the first time. Almost. It had actually made him angry. Furious even, that one would ever suggest a cold, heartless stone could replace a human being. 

Of course John would never be satisfied with this so-called substitute, but he started to think Sherlock was really there. Somewhere in this stone, hidden to eyes that see, but do not observe.  
Maybe John was going crazy, but he felt like Sherlock could hear him. When he touched the stone, he imagined Sherlock could feel him. He wanted this to be true. He needed it to be true. Maybe he was going crazy, but he knew if he would stay rational, he would not be able to survive. To think his best friend was gone, the man he owed so much, was gone and would never be coming back.. John could not stand that thought.

Therefore he visited Sherlock’s grave every Tuesday. It was the only day he was able to get off from work and he needed this day to be alone. To allow himself not to ignore his thoughts about that day. About Sherlock being gone. About never being able to be completely happy again. He needed to feel Sherlock’s presence at least for these Tuesdays. He wouldn’t often talk when he visited. Sometimes he would just touch the engraving in that highly polished cold black marble stone.  
As he thought about it, the stone was very much like Sherlock himself. Very neat and cold and so so beautiful. Those inky black curls against that flawless white skin... There were some big differences though, and I mean not Sherlock having been a human being and the stone being.. well.. a stone. But Sherlock having been so full of life, almost bursting with energy and always ready to go on adventures. Sometimes talking for hours on end. The stone was nothing like that. It was silent, calm and almost like it was resting. 

John could not touch it today. Feeling that coldness of the marble against his skin would remind him of how cold Sherlock’s lifeless body had felt after the fall.  
He didn‘t want to think about the fall today. He came to Sherlock’s grave to talk to him. To tell him something. His right hand clenched and unclenched as he looked at his own reflection in that black stone. He looked awful, leaning onto his cane, big black bags under his eyes, crinkles on his pale face. He looked so old.  
Sherlock would probably deduce all the pains he felt right now. He would advice John to work less, eat more and start working out again. John could not do any of that though. He didn’t see the point in it. What difference does it make to stay in shape, when he didn’t need to chase criminals through half of London any more. Why would he care that his leg ached like hell and his shoulder started cramping every night? At least this way he could almost forget that draining numbness that made him so careless and tired every day. 

John took a deep breath and cleared his throat. He opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it. “Come on Watson, you‘re a soldier. You invaded Afghanistan. You can do this! How hard can it be? He won‘t hear you anyway.“  
And that did it. That last thought broke all his barriers and tore down his resistance. His tears came streaming down his face and he started sobbing. He might have even screamed, but he wouldn’t remember.  
“I‘m so sorry Sherlock! All I‘ve said that upset you. Everything I did that annoyed you. I wish I could take it all back. Calling you a machine, yelling at you for ruining my jumpers. I didn‘t mean any of it.“  
John crumpled down as he said this. He had one hand on the stone, one hand covering his eyes as tears continued running down his face. The rain drained him from head to toe and he could already feel a headache forming at the back of his head, but he didn’t care.  
He sat like that for a little eternity, until he calmed himself down a bit and the tears finally stopped. He looked up at the white letters again and straightened his back. When he started talking again, his voice was all but a whisper.  
“I‘ve met some one, Sherlock. Her name is Mary and I am gonna ask her to marry me. I know you don‘t think much of marriage and love in general. Sentiment is not an advantage, isn‘t that what you used to say? I know that now to be true, but I can’t survive alone. She could never replace you, I know that. But she can make me forget, at least for most of the time and if it hadn‘t been for her, I wouldn’t be here anymore. I wanted to follow you, you know. I would follow you anywhere. Even in death.“  
John took another deep breath. He had never said that last bit out loud. He felt ashamed of having even thought that, but saying that out loud gave it power. It was the truth. After Sherlock had jumped, John wanted to kill himself. He hated that he was so weak, but he couldn’t help it.  
He still thought about it sometimes even now. After 2 years had gone by. He didn’t think of it as often as he had done in the beginning though and he knew now he could make it. Even without Sherlock. It was hard and it took all his strength not to give up, but Mary gave his life meaning again. He could not run away anymore. He had to stay alive now. For Mary. He didn’t want her to feel the way he did and still does every day. He knows it won’t feel like this forever though. Someday this hurt will be gone and all there will be left is the memory of a life before Mary. A life with a man he had loved so much, a life without him was almost impossible. Almost.

John used his hand, that lay on the stone to push himself up and leaned onto his cane for support. He let his eyes roam over the grave one last time and imagined it was Sherlock he was looking at. Then, without another word, he turned around and slowly made his way back to the gate, where a beautiful woman with a warm smile waited for him. 

As they walked away, embraced in each other’s arms, a long figure with a Belstaff coat and curly black hair emerged from the woods nearby the graveyard. He walked towards his own grave, stopped right where John had stood and laid his hand on the spot where John’s hand had been just a few minutes ago. It still felt a little warm and Sherlock could almost feel John still standing here, touching Sherlock instead of this cold stone. 

Almost.


End file.
